


Part 2 (On the Run)

by Follevolo



Series: Give me a song and I'll give you a drabble! [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gallavich, M/M, Songs, gallavich prompts, ianxmickey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 13:42:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1552484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Follevolo/pseuds/Follevolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- Gallagher… Can I ask you a stupid faggy question?<br/>- Of course, Mick.<br/>- Why me? – he was too drunk to care about the deeply pathetic implications of the words that just escaped his mouth against his own will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part 2 (On the Run)

**Author's Note:**

> Give me a song, and I'll write a drabble while listening to it - letting it inspire me.   
> This is Part 2 (On the Run) from Jay Z (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbsFNLD-4ZU)

\- So… this is your life now, uh? Fancy parties and faggy drinks? Fucking appletini? I thought you were a true southsider, but maybe you really are a pretty princess at the end of the day, uh?

It wasn’t meant to be said in an offensive way – Mickey was just very drunk and very uncomfortable. This was new to him: a party, fashionable, proud, free, snob… Very, very, extremely, unbearably gay.

Mickey had never seen so many fucking rainbows everywhere, for his own taste. He just couldn’t fit in – with his tattoos, his old clothes, his cheap cologne. He was from the Southside, period. He couldn’t drink a fucking colorful cocktail with fruit in it. His liver would just laugh at him for the rest of his fucking life.

But Ian. Ian was perfect: he smiled, greeted politely, his face clean and gentle, his leather jacket and his jeans so sexy on his hips, Mickey just wanted to take him away and lock him in a closet so nobody could put their eyes on him. He had a lot of admirers, that appeared clear from the very start: people moved around him like bees on a colorful flower, they listened to his stories with open mouths and laughed hard at his jokes.He hated it. He would have killed them all, if he could.

He probably didn’t noticed it, but regardless of his fan club, Ian had eyes only for Mickey that night, even if he was almost all the time in a corner with the bottle of Jack he managed to steal from the kitchen. When he got closer to him, his eyes flashing with what Mickey didn’t want to fool himself by believing was love, he just couldn’t shut up. He was rude, and silly, and unforgivable, he knew that. But that’s who he was, after all.

A shameless southsider.

And, against all odds, against all logic, against Mickey’s pessimistic predictions, Ian was a southsider as well, and a southsider he loved. He took the bottle from Mickey’s hands and drank up a long, long sip.

\- I fucking hate appletini, man – he croaked, grinning at him – there’s a room upstairs, and I happen to have the key. Wanna hook up?

Mickey’s eyes widened, half shock, half endless satisfaction and pride. He was choosing him. He would always choose him, over and over, no matter how much money all this pretty asses had, no matter how much they knew about contemporary art and politics, no matter they could easily give Ian the world on the palm of their hand.

\- Gallagher… Can I ask you a stupid faggy question?

\- Of course, Mick.

\- Why me? – he was too drunk to care about the deeply pathetic implications of the words that just escaped his mouth against his own will.

Ian didn’t laugh at him, though. He looked at him very seriously in the eyes, like he was pondering the question with a considerable amount of effort. When he talked, his voice was firm and sure.

\- Because you are you, Mick. You have seen the worst of me, and you found it good. You see the world as I see it, and you know what real life is. You know how to use a gun. You know how to put food on your family table with the little resources you have. You have fuck-u-up tattooed on your knuckles. I mean, you are no fucking fairy tale. And you know, I though I wanted prince charming for a while, but i don’t. I want it real, I want it true. We have seen shit pouring down on us, and we survived. What’s more fucking romantic and epic than this? These people live in a freaking crystal ball. They have no idea of what is struggling to arrive at the end of the day. I… I know it’s silly, but here I have fun and I can be free for a while, ok? I can pretend to forget for a few hours. But I could never really be like them. I’ve seen too much, I’ve lived too much. I need someone to take me back. I will always need you to take me back.

Mickey nodded, and for the first time in his life, he felt like the richest man in the room.


End file.
